Heartsease
by novitas
Summary: You think I don't notice, don't you, Bree? You think I can't tell? Katherine/Bree, hurt/comfort, oneshot.


I can see the way you look at yourself.

You think I don't notice, don't you, Bree? You think I can't tell? You are a queen of subtlety and impassiveness, but I've caught on to your games after all these years. And we are so alike that at first, you couldn't stand me, remember? I know your games because they are my own. It's just taken me a while to realize it.

Because I know you this way -- because I know you better than _anyone_-- I can see what the others don't. I know the look you give yourself in the mirror; for years, it was the one that I gave myself. The bitterness, the dislike, the distrust, and the self-loathing: it's all there, as plainly and simply as if it was on one of those lists you're always writing. You hate yourself. I'm surprised you haven't broken the bedroom mirror yet. You blame yourself for all the horrible things that have happened: Rex's death, Andrew's misbehavior, Danielle's pregnancy, Benjamin's absence, Orson's neglect, and my breakdown.

How can you carry all of that around without breaking, Bree? I know that when I was carrying similar weight, I cracked under the strain. That's why I went to the hospital, and why I'm now comfortably medicated, healing in therapy. You're not healing. You hate to admit your weakness, as I do, but the difference between us is that I know that my weaknesses are too much for me -- or at least, now I do. You can't bring yourself to admit that it's too much, that you'd like to stop bearing the burden of others' mistakes, which you so foolishly believe to be your own. You're tired. You want to rest.

Do you think I can't hear you when you cry? When you curl up in the corner of the shower stall, hide in your closet, bend over the stove and sob? The noises you make haunt me, Bree. I lie awake at night next to you, and put my hand on your stomach to feel your breathing, and I wish I could make you see that it's all right.

You're confused as to why you're still crying. You and I are together, and you're the happiest you can remember being; you told me so yourself. But I know why, and I know you'll only be able to go so much longer until you snap. I want to protect you from that, Bree. I want to curl around you and hold you and cushion you from the blow. But how can I, when you won't talk to me? Do you think I'll mock you or poke fun? I just want to protect you, Bree. I think you give me too much credit for being cruel.

I remember when you found out, before we were ever together, that I slept with Robin. I saw how your smile cracked in two, like a pane of glass. I knew what you were thinking, then, which is when I realized that I loved you and you loved me. I knew you were thinking, _Of course._I knew you were thinking, _Why would anyone want me?_

You see, I have a counter for everything you hate about yourself, Bree. I've spent a long time on it, and I have a laundry list of the things that are perfect about you. You're worried you're aging? I'm at least five years older than you, and I think your age lines are adorable. Being raised by a cruel, distant woman made you think you're ugly, did it? I think you're the most beautiful woman in the world. You think you're cold? Then what am I -- _warm_? And the woman who holds me at night is not cold by any means.

You frequently worry -- and don't think I don't notice -- that I will leave you and return to Robin. In your mind, she's the perfect woman. She's kind, sweet, self-sacrificing, funny, charming, and unbearably beautiful, with the natural body of a stripper. I know you compared yourself to her, as we all did when she first moved onto Wisteria Lane, and that you did it again when I left her for you. You were convinced we would never last, because you measured yourself against Robin and found yourself lacking.

I've said it before to you, and I'll say it again, however many times it'll take for you to believe it: I love you, Bree. I love you. I love you. I love you. Sometimes I think my chest will burst from the feeling, that it's too much for me to contain and that my heart will simply give out from the strength of it. You think that no one could ever love you. I'm determined to prove you wrong.

I'm sitting here, waiting for you to come home from the store. The box is in my pocket, waiting for the perfect moment for me to present it to you. I know what's inside: a diamond and emerald ring, as perfect and flawless as you are. I've made all the plans: the commitment ceremony and a trip to Europe just for the two of us. Maybe we'll even change the name of the company to _Mrs. and Mrs. Van de Kamp's Catering._We'll be happy, Bree. I'll show you, a thousand times over, how much I love you.

All you have to do is say yes.


End file.
